


A Poem and A Picture

by httpsawesome



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Grantaire is . . . himself, Jehan is Shy, M/M, Meet-Cute, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 05:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httpsawesome/pseuds/httpsawesome
Summary: The first time Grantaire and Jehan had met - they made eye contact, Grantaire gave him a ‘sup’ nod and then left with his coffee order five minutes later. It was a perfectly normal and forgettable encounter.The second time they met was three days later and Jehan had wordlessly handed him a piece of paper, blushed as red as his hair, and walked out of the shop.





	A Poem and A Picture

**Author's Note:**

> I know I haven't updated my other story in three weeks!! I'm sorry about that!! This entire month has been hard and I haven't had the time to write a serious story. I wrote this at 1 AM on Christmas morning because I was craving Grantaire/Jehan. 
> 
> Also: random strangers handing you poetry in a coffee shop is usually a recipe for disaster. Grantaire is a disaster though, and falls in love with any person that pays him more attention than normal.

The first time Grantaire and Jehan had met - they made eye contact, Grantaire gave him a ‘sup’ nod and then left with his coffee order five minutes later. It was a perfectly normal and forgettable encounter.

The second time they met was three days later and Jehan had wordlessly handed him a piece of paper, blushed as red as his hair, and walked out of the shop.

The paper had tiny, neat, almost-cursive scrawl that had a lot of hidden personality. Paper also would not be the most accurate term, since it’s artfully aged parchment that has a drop of cologne that smelled distinguished and smart. Chances are it was written with a pen, but Grantaire knows that the guy would choose to use an authentic quill with a feather of a beautiful bird from a country Grantaire has never been introduced to. On the parchment, was a poem.

_Ode to the Stranger In the Musain_

_Stranger does not seem like the appropriate word,_

_For I feel like I’ve seen you before._

_In parts._

_I’ve seen your eyes in my dreams,_

_filled to the brim with clear, clean water._

_I’ve heard your voice in the air,_

_musical and harsh, like a winter’s breeze._

_I will see you in my mind,_

_in the future,_

_A forever passenger on my train of thought._

A customer had pushed past him, and he realized he had been standing still in front of the door for a good minute. The cashier up at the front was smiling humorously at him.

“Do you know that guy?” Grantaire asked him, which was pretty rude since he had come here on often enough that he did not need to look down to see his name was Feuilly. He could have phrased it as “Hey Feuilly, how you doing? Anyway, I have a question to ask - “ or “Feuilly please, if you would be so kind as to inform me on the man who may or may not be a hallucination brought on by paint fumes?” But he didn’t have the words for that at the moment.

“Yeah, don’t worry about him.” Feuilly said briefly before moving onto the customer in line. Grantaire patiently waited for him to go into detail. “That’s Jehan. He goes overboard a lot. What did he make for you?”

“He wrote a poem.” Grantaire tried to keep all emotion out of his voice. He isn’t sure it was working.

“He’s big into poetry.” He says as he blends a customer’s frappe.

“Mmmhmm.” Grantaire nodded. “Does he come in often?”

“Usually. After the move he pulled he’s probably going to avoid this place for a while, on account of being terribly embarrassed. If he made you uncomfortable then I apologize on his behalf, he’s not a creepy stalker, he just as a lot of emotion.”

“It’s no problem.” Grantaire said. “I mean, it’s not like it _rhymed_ or anything, there’s no need to apologize.” Feuilly moved onto another customer. Eventually, Grantaire forgot to order a coffee and walked home with a light step and warm face. He read the poem an uncountable number of times before putting it softly between the pages of his sketchbook.

 

Bahorel works at the Musain Thursday mornings while Eponine works Thursday afternoons. He makes sure to stop by in the morning.

“How’s the sexiest motherfucker I’ve ever met doing on this fine morning?” Grantaire exclaimed as he busted through the door. The only customers were college kids who didn’t look up from their laptops.

“Feuilly is currently enjoying his only day off this week, so he’s most likely miserable and bored.” Bahorel said without hesitating.

“That’s likely.” Grantaire said. He leaned casually on the counter. “Hey, I have a question.”

“Yes, you’re my second sexiest friend.” Bahorel leaned closer to him, just as casual.

“That’s nice of you to lie to me like that, I appreciate it a lot, but that’s not the question.” Grantaire said.

“Then ask the fucking question.”

“Do you, by any chance, happen to know to be aware of a certain guy by the name of Jehan?”

“What, Prouvaire?”

“Possibly.” Grantaire answered. He did not know if that was his last name or a nickname. He did not know why this guy decided to write Grantaire a poem on a day that he left his house in a sweater with a mustard stain and fuzzy pajama bottoms. He really, truly, desperately would like to know these things.

“Short, red hair, cute as fuck, dabbles in poetry?”

“Absolutely.” Grantaire nodded.

“He’s my fourth sexiest friend.” Bahorel confided. He ignored a customer coming up to the register.

“How often does he come here?” Grantaire asked. “In the ballpark, like an approximate time if you have it.”

“He promised to bring me lunch.” Bahorel said. He silently asked the customer for a few minutes of peace. The customer was getting pissy. Bahorel did not care.

“Awesome. Amazing. Fantastic. Another question, completely unrelated. Do you think this outfit makes me look both gay and available?” He was wearing ripped jeans with many, vibrantly colored paint stains, a black v-neck that showed off his collarbone tattoo, his lucky green beanie, and a beaded rainbow bracelet. He held out his arms to get Bahorel a full view.

“Pretty gay, if I do say so myself. Aren’t you bi?”

“I’m very bi, but what I care about most is looking non-heterosexual.”

“You’re on the right track.” Bahorel nodded. “I got a jean jacket in my car if you want to complete the look.”

Sometimes he considers Bahorel his nearest and dearest friend, because Bahorel just _gets him._ “I love you so much.”

Bahorel responded by giving him a kiss on the cheek, because he’s an affectionate man and also knows that his beard texture annoys Grantaire. “Alright, watch the cash register for me while I go get it.”

“Excuse me!” The ignored customer exclaims while Bahorel casually brisked outside of his place of work.

“You’re excused.” Grantaire looked her in the eyes and smiled.

“Can I please get some service?”

“Sorry ma’am, I don’t work here, I’m just trying to find the guy that thought it was sensible to write me, a total stranger, a poem and why he decided to write it about me, an ugly fuck who’s only discernible skill is giving good blowjobs. Which he doesn’t even know!”

She left in an embarrassed huff after that, which was fine with Grantaire. If she stayed any longer he was absolutely going to dump all his insecurities out on her.

 

 

Jehan was supposed to bring Bahorel his lunch within two hours and in that time Grantaire had finished 1. the book he brought with him 2. all of his homework and 3. many doodles of what he remembered about this mysterious stranger from the 10 seconds max they made eye contact. He’s working with scraps of memories, most of which is probably wrong, but he’s pretty certain this guy had freckles.

He ends up drawing a picture of freckles as stars on the bridge of this guy’s nose, but with his eyes closed because he couldn’t be sure of what the color was. He’s pretty sure he had round eyes, with a strong nose that ends in a curved point.

Every time the door opens he darts his eyes in that direction, then gets immensely disappointed when it wasn’t Jehan.

Eventually though, when he snaps his head up, he is met with the stranger with the fluffy auburn hair, beautiful smile, and indeed he did have a smattering of star like freckles on the bridge of his nose.

Jehan didn’t notice him, instead happily rushed to Bahorel with a tupperware container with a homemade lunch. Grantaire didn’t say anything while Jehan chatted with their shared friend and fortunately he didn’t have to - when Jehan turned to leave shortly after his eyes finally fell on the artist.

Grantaire could see his eyes fill with the same panic filling himself, but while Jehan reacted by blushing (adorably) and falling silent, Grantaire said the first thing that came to his mind.

“Can I suck your dick in the nearest alleyway?” Because he had to get this guy to fall in love with him somehow.

“What?” His eyes got impossibly wider.

“Nothing. Please forget I said that. I drew you a picture.” He handed him the star for freckles picture. “I put my phone number on the back. Text me if you want. No one has written me a poem before and I’m not sure how to respond. I’m going to leave now.” He quickly left (but didn’t run) as Bahorel’s loud as fuck laughter filled the store.

 

 

Jehan did eventually text him, and Grantaire tried to wash away his regret in the shower. Just a simple picture of his drawing pinned to the man’s wall, with a heart emoji attached to him.

Grantaire added him to his contacts, named him ‘man of my dreams (jehan)’ and sent a text ‘i have no idea how 2 talk to ppl im attracted 2 do u want a dic pic?’

Their relationship took off from there.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
